A Stitch in Time
by The Unknown Major
Summary: I'm really bad at summaries, but here goes. Christine Campbell is transported back in time where she meets, rather obviously, our Band of Brothers. Find out what happens and why she was teleported back in time in the first place.
1. The Longest Day

Chapter 1

**I wrote this during Maths so please don't really expect it to be good. I know it sucks, but at least leave some constructive criticisms. But I'm a bit volatile and hot headed so don't be afraid, either, if I swear to come after you with a excecutioner's axe and shout something about decapitation. I appreciate Reviews, really. It's my first time writing a fanfic excluding the poetic stuff so try not to go hard on me. I mean, I'm only eleven! No offence to those Popeye Wynn lovers out there, I just portrayed him as a bit of a scaredy cat 'cause I felt it needed some comic relief. Like I said, no offence to anyone. I hope you guys'll enjoy it. I worked hard on this. Yes, fifteen minutes is considered working very hard.**

**Disclaimer: Yeah, disclaimers. Who could live without 'em. I don't own anybody in this story – not yet, anyway. I don't want to offend anyone with what I write so if I make a mistake, please tell me so that I can change it. Can you change what you've written? I hope so.**

**Rated: Well, this story's gonna get wackier and more romantically inclined which I can tell you is gonna be one helluva fiasco seeing I've never written romance stories before, and I'm only starting now since I can see almost every story here's got at least a bit of romance, and there's a teensy bit of swearing, I'm gonna rate it…um…I dunno, K+ for now. Enjoy! **

**Chapter 1**

**The Longest Day**

_It is foolish and wrong to mourn the men who died. Rather should we thank God that such men lived._

_-General George S. Patton_

Bursts of gunfire. Screams of the stricken. And the eternal silence of death.

Donald Malarkey gripped his M1 tightly staring with disbelief and utter confusion at the disaster that this was turning out to be. He had gone into France with trepidation, hesitancy and fear, but at least he had some confidence that the large scale operation would succeed. After looking at the giant invasion armada, who wouldn't?

All his courage and confidence at the beginning had now been dispelled by fear and wide eyed amazement at the scene before him.

Don could only stare in horror and morbid fascination as paratroopers coming down got shot down or sucked into the raging, hungry fires. Although he didn't know it, he was staring at the village of Ste. Mere Eglise, and F Company of the 82nd had just accidentally parachuted to their doom.

Pulling away from the terrible sight Don heard a rustle of leaves. Immediately cautious and alert he clicked his cricket and whispered "Flash!" softly.

No answer.

All his danger bells ringing, Don stuck his M1 – which he, being from the mortar squad with no real weapon had taken from a dead trooper – in front of him while pushing aside the bushes tentatively. A dark shape materialized in front of him and Don, white faced, gun pointed at the man's chest, said, "Don't move!"

The man whirled around. "Jesus, Malark, don't shoot!" he muttered feverishly. With a start Don realized that the mysterious figure was his pal, Bill Guarnere, from the same outfit as he was.

"Bloody hell! Why didn't you click the goddamn cricket or just answer me?" hissed Don angrily. The excitement had gone and the adrenalin had stopped flowing through his body.

His friend's sheepish smile told Malarkey what he wanted to know. "I lost the cricket part of the cricket. Besides, I didn't even hear you," Bill said, grinning. "I was transfixed by the…" It was just too difficult to describe, so Bill let the subject drop.

With a noncommittal grunt Don signaled Bill to follow him even though the latter was senior in rank. Bill willingly followed Don, trudging through the dense foliage off the main road and slushing through the flooded areas.

As they waded through they passed some floating bodies. Their different uniforms helped tell the two soldiers whether they were American or German.

Pulling up a dead trooper with a familiar Screaming Eagle shoulder patch Bill glanced disbelievingly at his face.

"Jesus, Don, c'mere. Looks like ol' Cooper bought it," he remarked, voice clear of emotion except a hint of surprise. In war there was no time to mourn anyone. Wars could not be won without fighting. Inevitably friends get killed. You have to resign yourself to the fact that you and your buddies are probably going to die.

Not wanting to stare at the dead man – who a few hours ago had been smiling and talking as if he had not a care in the world – Don motioned Bill to stop staring and continue walking. With a shrug Bill dropped Cooper – splosh! – into the water and followed Don.

A sudden burst of gunfire came from their right, making both men instinctively duck. Don forgot that he was in a flooded area and came up for air quickly. Besides him he could see Bill doing the same.

"Bloody hell!" yelled Malarkey over the noise. "Must've been that splash that tipped 'em off!" he sent a withering glare in Bill's direction.

"Alright! Alright," said Bill, raising his hands in mock surrender. Another burst of gunfire sent Bill diving.

Since they were pretty close to the shore Don beckoned to Bill and both of them crept towards land. There they got down into prone position and leopard crawled until they were sure the machine gun was no longer on them.

5 minutes later Don had outstripped Bill and was staring back at him. "C'mon!" he began, but got no further because he had collided with a solid figure. Both went sprawling and Bill jammed his Thompson into the second man's face, shouting, "Stick 'em up!"

"Thunder! Thunder!" yelled the man frantically, his hands shooting up into the air at the sight of Bill's weapon. Bill snickered then stopped as he stared disbelievingly at his comrade's face. "Golly, that you, Pop?" he asked inquisitively, positive that it was his friend Popeye Wynn. "I never knew you were that scared of me."

Trying to look dignified again, Popeye said, "Just, y'know, bein' cautious." He looked down, then back at Bill again, and added, "Oh, and just for the record, I did _not_ piss in my pants."


	2. The Finding

I don't have any loyal readers yet, since I'm putting this up right after the first chapter

**Wow! I wasn't expecting such an overwhelming response. For me, 6 is pretty overwhelming. Anyway, this is the lousy second chapter. I kinda noticed that in all the teleporting 'back in time' stuff that I read, none of the people being teleported usually know who they're meeting or what's happening. And…sorry for all this rambling but I'm feeling slightly delirious today, since I've got a sugar rush from eating too many gobstoppers. Authors response to reviews! Ooh, I love this part. Heh. Excuse me.**

**Loveonspeedial: I'm afraid you're gonna have a very painful head for a few days, 'cause I am eleven. Poor you…I once walked into a concrete corner. It was really painful.**

**WESTU: Thanks for the creative criticism! I guess I was carried away, didn't really know what the heck I was writing. Ah well. **

**Fiona1987: Like I said at least I think I said it, I'm ok at writing intros. The problem is I've never written a romance story before. So I can guarantee you it's gonna be a helluva fiasco.**

**Bobadoo: Gee, never heard of the expression "crazy awesome" before. Still, thanks for the encouragement!**

**wild-in-spirit****: Thanks! I don't think my OC has that good an intro but…argh, I've never been good at intros anyway.**

**IKeepGoldFishInMyBra: Amazing? You should see some of my other stories. No, I'm not boasting, but still. **

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own any of the characters in this story except for Christine Campbell. Um…and anything else that a disclaimer usually disclaims. **

**Warning: Slight vulgarities? I think they're vulgarities. By my standards, anyway. Oh, and the quote doesn't really make sense. So beware of the quote that doesn't make sense.**

**Chapter 2**

**The Finding**

_Whither thou goest I will go; and where thou lodgest I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy god my god...even to the end._

_- Harry Hopkins_

_**Donald Malarkey**_

"Flash," I whisper cautiously at the silent figure that stands in front, partially hidden by the bushes.

"Thunder," comes the answer. "That you, Malarkey? It's me, Sergeant Lipton." He pushes through the vegetation to meet us, adding, "I've found out where we are. A sign down the road said Ste. Mere Eglise."

With a start I realize exactly which town I had been staring at, where paratroopers were shot down still in their harnesses or burnt by the spiraling flames.

"Still, pleasantries over, we'd better try to navigate our way to home base," remarks Lipton after he's shaken hands with everyone. "C'mon, boys, let's go." He motions for us to follow while he pushes through the dense foliage to find something, anything that will lead us to base.

We hadn't gotten very far when we spot a civilian house. Just to check Lip sends me and Bill to see if there are any Jerries inside. Opening the door cautiously, I peer inside and brandish my weapon carefully.

No one.

Moving in towards the next door I kick it open only to find – to my immense amazement – a girl, a beautiful girl of about 19 huddled in the middle of the floor, looking as bemused and befuddled as I am currently feeling.

Bill, presumably having checked the rest of the house, edges his way towards me only to stare at the girl. "Who the hell is she?" he asks. "What's she doin' here?"

The girl looks at us dolefully, with a dazed expression. "I was hoping you could tell me," she replies.

_**Christine Campbell**_

_London 2004_

I didn't even know how I got there.

I mean, jeez, all I was doing was reading a book about D-Day. I was majoring in History, and WWII was going to be my specialized area. I don't know why but I had taken an interest to the subject ever since I was 9.

Today was the 6th of June, 2004. The 60th anniversary of D-Day. It was almost 0100, close to the time that they would be parachuting out of the C-47s into Normandy. I flipped aimlessly through the book, finding the part where I wanted. I had just started reading when suddenly the lights began to flicker. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off…

It was eerie, especially when the windows that had been closed swung open. Rushing to the window I saw it was a thunderstorm out there. Lightning flashed everywhere. Torrential rain poured down, and I thought it was probably not unlike the storm that had occurred 60 years ago, forcing Eisenhower to move D-Day forward by one day.

Then the TV switched itself on. The noise of static filled my ears and I clamped my hands over my ears to block out the sound and thought privately _who the heck turned the volume up so loud?_

The grey lines on the TV cleared and I found myself staring at a house. It was a quaint, miniscule white house that slowly grew larger and larger. Or was it me growing smaller and smaller? This reminded me of some Enid Blyton story I read before. Where the wallpaper grew and the children were sucked into the land of the…oh, never mind.

What I was more concerned about was what was happening. The door of the white house was growing bigger now, like the cameraman was zooming in. It was a jerky motion picture and I found myself scathingly reprimanding the cameraman in the head for such shoddy work.

Before I knew what was going on I was suddenly enveloped by the big brown door. I found myself flat on my back on the cold concrete. Sitting up, I looked around and realized I was probably in the white house that I had been staring at, judging by the white walls. Dazed and disoriented, I could hardly comprehend what just happened when two soldiers wearing WWII era uniforms burst in, one after the other. They looked vaguely familiar, like from a dream.

The second soldier asked his friend a question and I replied with a smart-ass answer.

The second soldier gaped at me. "Christ, it's a goddamn Limey! What's a loony limey girl doin' here?" he finally managed, his twanging accent ringing in my ears.

"Loony yourself, yank," I said coldly. I could tell that this guy was one person that I was going to have a whole lot of arguments with.

He look affronted. "Now, look 'ere, Brit," he started.

"If you want me to look at you, Doughboy, I suggest you go get cleaned up first," I said, not being able to help it.

He opened his mouth then closed it again, face red with anger. _Looks like I got you this time_, I thought smugly.

It amazed me, really, how I had adapted to this bizarre situation. I think anyone in the predicament I was in would be freaked out, not to mention hysterical. Maybe it was because I had hardly enough time to think about it. I mean, if I hadn't gone mad and this was really happening then I had just been transported back in time. How crazy could that be?

The soldier had started to speak again. "Malark, you ok?" he said, nudging his friend in the ribs. Until that point he'd been staring at me, jaw opened, eyes wide. "Malark, I swear you're gonna drool any moment now," Bill added smugly as he jolted Malarkey out of his stupor while sending a coy glance at me.

I flared up immediately. "Now, look 'ere, Mister know-it-all, how d'you know he was even gawking at me?" at the same time, though, I felt slightly mollified that the more adorable soldier had supposedly been staring at me.

"W-what?" stammered 'Malark', finally taking his eyes off me. "I didn't…wasn't…" his voice trailed off and he looked like a red tomato.

The other soldier's snide grin was growing wider by the minute. Did I say minute? Make that second. "I reckon we should take 'er back to base, eh? See what she knows." He shot me a look that challenged me to talk back, to make a smart ass reply if I could.

"Wha…? Oh yeah, sure." 'Malark', avoiding my eyes, signaled me to follow him.

As we trekked out I had a feeling that this wasn't going to be that bad after all.

**So I know that sucked. Certainly it wasn't anything compared to the introduction, but like I said, I'm not that talented a writer. And I'm not even a girl, so I wouldn't really know how to write it in a girl's point of view. So it's really tough. So please give me your comments! I live for reviews. So, and if anyone wants to help me out here, I'm open to suggestions. So…I realize I'm using the word 'so' very often. So? So…aw, never mind. **


	3. Saying Private Campbell

**Ok, guys, I'm sorry I haven't been able to update for a long time. Y'see, over here it's School term and I've been pretty busy with numerous projects, plus that it was my dad's b'day yesterday doesn't help. Thanks again to my 'loyal' reviewers! I hope this chapter's up to your standards. It isn't the greatest. Oh, and by the way, I can't stop putting myself down...hey, that's what all writers do. Everybody thinks that their stories are great...everybody except them. I'm feeling uber-hyper today, which isn't a good thing. I've never been one to get hyper. My friends say I'm too...serious. I just watched the Dark Knight yesterday...sorry for my rambling. Enjoy the sucky story!**

**Chapter 3**

**Saying Private Campbell**

_Courage is rightly esteemed the first of human qualities because it is the quality which guarantees all others._

_-Winston Churchill_

_**Christine Campbell**_

"I don't know if I've introduced myself but my name's Donald Malarkey, and the other guy's Bill Guarnere," the first soldier muttered, slightly embarrassed, as we trekked side by side.

"I'm Christine Campbell," I ventured. Then I paused. "Isn't 'malarkey' slang for bull-"

"-shit? Yeah. Lots of people tell me that," he interrupted. I could see his cheeks flushing red even in the dim light. He didn't say anything anymore – probably because he didn't want to embarrass himself again. I could hear a snicker from up front. Bill must've been enjoying this.

Voices up front. "What did you find, Bill?" said a voice. I peered into the foliage, not really being able to see anything. Besides me I heard Don whisper, "That's Sergeant Lipton, and Joe Toye and Popeye Wynn."

"Yessir. Got a limey g-" he was cut off by me, who interjected, "I'm not gonna be called a Limey, Guarnere!" The way I said it I deliberately slurred the last word so it sounded like 'Gonorrhea'. Bill flushed angrily.

Smiling, the man I assumed was Sergeant Lipton commented, "I always thought one Bill Guarnere was enough. Now it looks like I'm never gonna get any peace." He didn't know how right he was. I had a knack for knowing who I was most liable to pick a fight with, and Bill Guarnere was currently at the top spot. I was almost exactly like him – hot headed, brash, yet courageous At least, I reckon, 'cause he hadn't done anything brave yet. It was usually the people whom I was similar in character who were the ones we fought with.

Lipton was still talking. "Bring 'er back to base," he said. Bill threw a dirty look at me. "With pleasure," he said, a smirk dancing on his lips. I wondered what he was up to.

Soon we bumped into two more soldiers. The hedgerows of Normandy just seemed to be full of the paratroopers. I found out from Don that it was their company's X.O., Richard Winters. The other one he had never seen nor heard of. I later found out it was Hall from Able Company.

Richard Winters…now where had I heard that name before? Suddenly it all fell into place. A few weeks back, Mister Pinkerton, our History teacher had been lecturing us on World War Two. He'd talk about this 'Band of Brothers'. He'd gave us some screening from part of the miniseries. Now I knew why they all were vaguely familiar. I'd heard of them before.

Winters had gotten out a map and compass and was navigating. We trekked till daylight. At 0630 I could hear distant shells coming in – the preceding naval and aerial bombardment.

During the walk the inevitable subject of a pretty familiar Lt. Meehan came up. Making a mistake I could've kicked myself for, I said shortly, "Meehan's dead." From what I could remember his plane had crashed.

Winters looked at me strangely. "How would you know?" he asked.

"I…oh, never mind," I replied, giving myself a good kick and nearly toppling over. Bill stifled a guffaw just in time. I threw him a glare as I picked myself up. _I wish I could meet you somewhere, just me, you, and a dark alley_, I found myself thinking. _Then I'll pummel you till you can't stand anymore…_ I was still visualizing me bashing Bill up when we came across some dead paratroopers. Right away the men who were missing equipment stooped down to pick the dead troopers' stuff. I looked away in revulsion. I'd never seen a dead body before. Not even on the way here…perhaps because of the light.

Bill looked at me and whispered snidely, "Not so tough now, are we?"

I gave no reply. I didn't want him to think that he had gotten to me right and proper.

He took the opportunity to irritate me further. "Malark really likes you, doesn't he? In fact, I daresay you like him too."

"Aw, shut up," I growled.

_**Donald Malarkey**_

I can't really believe it.

After all, does anyone believe it when a beautiful British girl appears in a dilapidated house in France?

Of course not. But it happens.

And it just happened to me.

Like always, I made a total fool of myself. She seemed to like me a fair bit, yet I still embarrass myself. My first chance to get a girl and I mess it up. Not many people know but I'm as shy as Lieutenant Winters when it comes to girls. That's why you never hear about me getting a date. And if I did, it'd be the talk of the town till the date was over.

Sheesh. I may be a great soldier but I'm a rookie in girls. Unlike Bill, of course. Bill's a veteran in both aspects. I wonder how we can keep her on, so I'll see her regularly. Maybe we can make her a private, or at least a nurse. Private Campbell. Has a sort of ring to it.

I can't find a Luger anywhere. Looks like my brother'll have to wait for a while more. There isn't anything of value here. Guess we'd better move on. Apparently Winters has the same thought because at that moment he tells us to move out.

As I stand up I think to myself. Why and how had that girl, Christine, appeared in a house in the middle of nowhere? Was she part of some British secret intelligence? From what I knew the Brits were always keen on their spying stuff. The best way to win a war is to use intelligence, apparently. Of course, being a soldier, I disagree. But who knows? Maybe one day it really will.

Another thing that puzzles me is how the girl knew Meehan was dead. She had seemed so sure of it, so much conviction. Like some sort of fortune teller. Amazing.

"C'mon, Malark, we're movin' out," calls a voice. A girl's voice. My cheeks are positively burning as I avoid her gaze and walk towards Bill.

She catches up with me. "Why do you keep avoiding me?" she demands. Ever the non-diplomat, I snap, "Do you have to be so frank?"

"Well, I'm not the one blushing and avoiding the person everytime you see her," she counters. Great. So she had realized.

"W…w…well…um, I, er…umm," I stammer. "Never mind," I finally say. "I'm not used to girls, that's all."

"I can tell," she says dryly.

"Now look 'ere," I begin angrily, but remember what she had said to Bill and trail off.

"I don't mind lookin' at _you_," she grins coyly.

_What?!_

"I just wish you'd leave me alone," I mumble, words tumbling out of my mouth. Then I walk away.

Geez, I could've kicked myself.


	4. Back to the Fighting

**So I know this chapter's probably gonna be a bit confusing and un-factly if there even is such a word, anyway but who cares. It's just the storyline that matters, right? **

**I'm not very proud of this chapter. Typical me, isn't it. I never am proud of my stuff. Everyone except me thinks my stories are good. But that's what authors do, I guess, become their own Devil's Advocate and...is this familiar? Have I said this before? If I have, then let's stop my rambling.**

**Thanks to all my reviewers! Reviews make me happy. Reviewshappinessmore chapters. Right? What a perfectly simple equation. Pity I can't write that down for my Science equation on photosynthesis and all that stupid stuff.**

**So, anyway, enough with my rambling. Let's just get on with the story already! you must be thinking. I couldn't have phrased it better myself strictly speaking, I have phrased it better, since I was the one who wrote it...never mind.**

**Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Band of Brothers or the whole bloody war in the first place. I only own Christine. Sad. Disclaimers are so irritating sometimes...**

**Chapter 4**

**Back to the Fighting**

_**Christine Campbell**_

By the time we made it to a place that was at least inhabited by live humans and not dead ones I was exhausted. Who cared if it was a German POW camp, and that the Germans were supposed to be our enemies? I was practically dead on my feet.

"I'm tired," I announced to no one in particular, sitting down next to a German POW. Bill snickered. _No love lost between the two of us, _I thought as I shot him a particularly nasty "I'm-gonna-kick-your-ass-if-you-do-that-again" look which shut him up immediately.

Don, having recovered from his earlier shock and embarrassment by spending more time with Bill and not me, spotted the German I was sitting side by side with and grinned. "Where're you from, son?" he asked teasingly. They struck up an animated chat, fueled by the fact that the German actually came from Oregon, Don's home state. Irritated by the cheerful banter, since I wasn't feeling the least bit cheerful, I decided to leave Don and his newfound friend to their nonsense and tagged along with the rest of them.

"Finally summed up the courage to leave loverboy alone, eh?" smirked Bill as I drew alongside them.

"Very funny," I mumbled incoherently. We'd made it to camp and I'd been distracted by the amount of guns and weapons that the camp was bustling with. "I need a gun," I stated. "No sane person would run around in a battlefield without a gun."

"Well, ya missed your chance when you were grossed out by those dead fellas," shot back Bill. "Didn't you hear Lip tellin' you guys to get whatever you could?"

Winters had wandered over to a couple of men, one with snowy white hair that stuck out in the mass of green and black helmets, and the other a rough and tough, rugged looking man with a fearsome looking gun. Winters spotted me and waved me over. I approached them with some trepidation, eyeing the third man's gun fearfully. He looked like the type that wouldn't hesitate to kill innocent people.

"Guys, this is, er, miss…" he trailed off and looked at me questioningly.

"Campbell, Christine Campbell." I introduced myself, never taking my eyes off the man's gun. I never really liked guns, although I still needed to have one.

"Miss Campbell, this is Ronald Speirs," Winters jabbed a thumb at the fearsome looking man with the gun, who nodded his acknowledgement, "and Buck Compton." The snowy haired man gave me a grin that made me wish a German would hurry up and snipe him in the ass or somewhere else.

"So, Miss Campbell, what's a proper lil' English lady like you doin' 'ere?" drawled Speirs in his unconcerned air.

"Actually, my uncle and aunt live in Ste. Mere Eglise. They invited me over years ago, in 1939, and before I know it I've no way getting out of France ever since that Hitler chap took the country." Sure, it was a lie, but I think it was a pretty damn good one.

"Right. You any good with medicine, or translating?" asked Winters pointedly, ever the businessman who didn't like to digress.

"Actually, come to think of it, pretty good." My mom was a surgeon and I often watched her do her operations, sometimes even help out. And as for my language…I'd always taken interest in other people's languages, so currently I could speak English, German, French, Dutch, and even snatches of Mandrin. Not that that would be much of a help over here in Europe.

"Great. Report to Doc Roe. You should be able to identify him by the red medic armband."

"B…but…" there was bound to be a fight coming along – I knew it, I'd watched the battle. I wanted to go with them and fight, damnit! First hand experience and all that rot. I wanted to be in the field. Not that I noticed it at that instant, but Speirs had asked Buck for some cigarettes and had slipped away without me even noticing.

Right on cue a messenger came from HQ, telling Winters that someone or other – didn't quite catch the name – wanted him up front. Winters left and came back a few minutes later, grim faced.

Don was back, looking rather ashen. He stared at Speirs as he walked by suspiciously. I wondered what happened between the two of them…now I regretted not paying attention to Mr Pinkerton's lesson. Still, I think I really needed that hour of sleep.

Winters briefly outlined the plan, that there was a battery of guns at Utah that needed some taking out. He assigned the jobs, but when it came to me he hesitated. "Maybe you should stay…" he began uncertainly.

I shot him my trademark "I-don't-think-that's-a-good-idea" glare and he abruptly changed his mind.

"Alright, but you'd better stay out of trouble," he warned.

"Sure," I said, in a tone that usually meant I wasn't going to listen at all. I think Winters noticed 'cause he gave me a small smile before ordering the men to move out.

We moved out pretty quickly. I was awarded my own Colt pistol, which I was sure wasn't going to be much of a use against German machine guns. Still, it was a gun, and I should've been grateful for having it. Thank God my dad had brought me shooting just before this harebrained adventure happened.

Once we encountered the battery Winters split the men up. He seemed to have forgotten about me so I tagged along with three soldiers who turned out to be – guess who? – Bill, Don and Buck.

Suddenly the air was full of noise. I covered my ears; nothing could've prepared me for this sort of thing. Men shouted, rifles blasted, chaos ruled. Grenades landed all over the place and I think I got hit by shrapnel somewhere or other.

"Campbell? That you? Watcha' doin' 'ere?" yelled Bill disbelievingly over the noise.

"Does it matter?" I shouted back. "In case you haven't noticed, we're in the middle of a battle!" raising my Colt I fired one round off at a German helmet bobbing in the distance. I think it hit him 'cause he disappeared, although I couldn't be sure.

Two Germans were in the trench next to me. I jumped in and ran after them, ignoring the warning shouts from my fellow soldiers. Screaming happily like the ass I was, might I add.

It turned out to be an ambush. They suddenly appeared in front of me and opened fire. I don't know how they could've missed me at such point blank range but they did, they only shot my helmet off. As my brown hair tumbled out they gaped and once said uncertainly, "Was…?"

I seized the opportunity and shot all of them.

"You Ok, Campbell?" asked Bill with an air of concern, having crept up behind me.

Before I could answer a colossal explosion let rip. I smiled. I was sure the first gun had been taken care of. I hoped so, anyway.

"Yeah, I'm absolutely fine," I shouted back, grinning. I never knew Bill had such a sensitive, caring side for a strange girl like me whom he was perpetually arguing with.

As if reading my thoughts, Bill smirked. "Just make sure you don't die on me," he shouted. "I haven't finished with you yet. You're great fun, y'know."

Oh, so _that_ was the reason why.

_**Donald Malarkey**_

All four guns destroyed, finally, after such a long day. I've got numerous cuts and bruises everywhere…not that I care. It was my first battle experience, and I gotta say it wasn't that bad.

We're planning to celebrate all night. I'm cooking…although from the looks on the boys' faces they aren't enjoying it much.

An unknown soldier climbs into the truck with us. I glance at him then do a double take.

It is Christine.

I can never forget those dark, mysterious eyes. True enough, she takes off her helmet and there are audible gasps from the men who don't know her.

I don't know why, but I'm infuriated. "What the hell are you doin' 'ere?" I hiss angrily. "You've no right to be in that uniform."

"Why not?" she demands hotly. The men watch our heated exchange, wide eyed.

"You…" I grab her arm and begin to pull her out. She lets me do so, but suddenly stops, as if she's remembered something.

"Wait! I want to see Winters drink," she says, pulling me back into the truck.

Huh? I am confused. Winters drinks?

Just then, Winters pokes his head in. "Hey, boys," he says. Noticing the bottle we're passing around he signals Bill to hand it over and takes a long swig. We watch in wide eyed amazement. After he says goodbye and leaves, I stared at Christine, dumbfounded.

"How did you know?" I ask.


	5. The First of the Girl Soldiers

**Hi again, guys. Sorry for the long wait...my internet's just gone bust on me again. Plus, I was too lazy to write since I was writing another story. Don't like this chapter much but I guess I shouldn't keep you waiting any longer, huh? Thanks for all the lovely reviews! Don't forget to review this one as well!**

**Chapter 5**

**The First of the Girl Soldiers? **

_**Donald Malarkey**_

The others may not have pursued the subject but I can be very dogged when I want to. "Now we've gotta talk," I mumble, dragging her out of the truck. We walk to a deserted alley. "I want to know everything," I tell her furiously. Who does she think she is, kidding us like that? I mean, she has absolutely no right to just come and talk as if she knows anything and everything that's going to happen.

And it's worse when she actually turns out to be right.

She looks at me. "You wouldn't believe me anyway," she says defiantly. Huh. I hate those kinda excuses. Always 'you wouldn't believe me' or 'it's too difficult for you to understand'.

"Try me," I grin at her.

_**Christine Campbell**_

How could I have been so stupid? I'd trained myself to be aloof, uncaring as I could be, so that I didn't let any information drop. And now I felt myself falling for this complete stranger whom I had only met a day ago. Plus, he was from the past, and I was from the future. There was no way I could tell him about this completely insane time warp thing.

I told him everything.

He took it in without any real change in expression. At least, his facial expression didn't change. Something in his eyes did, though. They flickered with an emotion. What was it, disbelief? Horror? I couldn't really tell…if only this alley was brighter.

Finally he started to speak, slowly, his eyes bright with realization as what I had told him sank in. "You're from the future," he said disbelievingly. "And you know exactly what's going to happen. And you've seen us before. Our lives during the war, on that TV of yours."

"Pretty much," I answered, pleased that he'd caught on so fast.

What wasn't so pleasing was that he didn't seem to think it was possible.

"And that's how you knew the future, about Meehan dying and Winters drinking?"

"Yep."

He started to back away. I didn't know if it was a good thing or bad thing. On one hand, he didn't seem to believe me, but on the other, I had warned him it would be unbelievable.

"Told ya you wouldn't believe me anyway," I said smugly. At least, I think it was smug enough.

"Actually, I believe you," he said softly. "I really do." He turned and ran. I snorted.

If he believed me, he had a funny way of showing it.

_**Donald Malarkey**_

Holy cow. I'm in love with a girl from the future? This isn't happening to me. Dizzy and unbelieving I stumble out of the alley. It's funny, really. Me, a grown man, a soldier at that, running away from a girl a few years my junior. But if you put it in perspective, it wasn't that strange, seeing as the girl was from the future.

Why must my life be so screwed up?

_**Christine Campbell**_

I didn't have much time to muse over it. Someone approached me from behind. He tapped me on the shoulder and I whirled around, fist cocked, ready to punch the person if he threatened me. I relaxed when I saw it was just Winters, with another rather drunk man standing next to him.

"Miss Campbell?" asked Winters.

"I would've thought that was obvious," I responded. My helmet was off, and I don't think any other soldier would have long brown hair. Winters grinned and introduced his friend, a seemingly decent except for the fact that he was drunk man with messy black hair.

"Miss Campbell, this is my good friend Lewis Nixon. We're here to escort you to Colonel Sink, the regimental commander. He wants to see you." Nixon nodded his agreement at Winters' words. I doubt he actually heard him.

I followed obediently and we came across Colonel Sink, looking very, well, commander-ish, staring into space. Winters cleared his throat and Sink was shaken out of his reverie. Actually, Winters needn't have alerted Sink since at that moment Nixon burst into song, singing about some soldier who 'ain't gonna jump no more'.

"Ah, Miss Campbell. You did a commendable job today," Sink praised. "A fine, fine job. I heard you took out two soldiers."

"Well, yessir," I said as modestly as I could, though in my head the gears were working overtime. He couldn't have wanted to see me just so that he could praise me. So what did he want me for?

It seems as if he heard what I was thinking, for he said at that moment, "This may be a bit unorthodox, but we're lacking someone as highly skilled as you, what with your vast command over numerous languages and not to mention your medical skills. General Taylor hasn't responded yet, but we'd be proud to be the first regiment to have a woman soldier."

I couldn't believe my ears. "What?!"

"Of course, you'll just be a medic and translator," he added quickly, "but you'll still have to go through your five practice jumps to earn your wings."

I thought about Don. And about Bill, and all the other brave guys I met.

"Ok," I said. "I'll do it."

"Congratulations, Private Campbell." Colonel Sink looked visibly relieved; there was even a hint of pride in his eyes. "Accordin' to General Taylor we'll be shipping back in a few days. You'll earn your wings then."

I saluted, the way I'd seen soldiers do in the movies. He saluted back. As I walked away I could hear Sink ordering Winters, "Do me a favour and get Nixon to shut up, will you?"

_**Donald Malarkey**_

"Hey, lover boy," calls a voice. A very familiar voice. Scowling, I whirl around and demand of Bill, "shut up and change the record, will ya?"

The only response I get is a snide grin. "Looks like your girlfriend's joined the paratroops," he remarks. "Sure hopes she gets through alright, I love arguing with her."

Christine, a paratrooper? Is Bill kidding? I can't imagine a girl joining our outfit. Especially Christine.

Fuming although I don't know why I look for her. Finally I see her, chatting with Joe Toye and Buck Compton. "What the hell?" I snap, staring at her.

She stops, puzzlement written all over her face. "'Scuse me for a moment," she tells the other two, who nod in unison and exchange a smirk. We head back to the dark alley in which she told me everything.

"What's this on about, then?" she asks.

"You're gonna be a paratrooper?" I ask tersely.

"Only a medic," she shoots back defensively. I stare at her and sigh.

"But still…" my voice trails off, as I sit down on the curb and motion for her to do the same. She obliges and sits beside me.

We lapse into silence for awhile as I cast around for a topic to talk about. Tentatively I ask her, "Can you tell me what's going to happen next?"

She explodes…figuratively, of course. "Are you mad?! You do realize if I do that we'll be changing history!" By now she's jumped up and is staring daggers at me.

I follow her lead and leap to my feet. "Do I look as if I care? As far as I'm concerned you've already changed history, making me fall for a girl in the future, like you!"

The moment the words are out I bite my lip, blushing, looking away.

Did I just say that out loud?

_**Christine Campbell**_

_What?!_

Did he just confess that he liked me as well? I couldn't believe my ears. I think I was gawking because he flushed and turned away.

"Well, I think we'd both better catch some shut eye," I said awkwardly, breaking the embarrassed silence that presented itself. "See ya around." I turned to leave.

"Wait." Now what? I wondered as I turned back to him. The mischievous tone was back in his voice. He was staring directly at me now, thinking. I could almost see the gears spinning in his head.

"I'm not going to let you go without a kiss."

That was shocking. I thought I was the one that did this sort of thing, not him. I stared into those adorable brown eyes. _Aw, what the heck_.

And I kissed him.

_**Donald Malarkey**_

I was on cloud 9!

So it wasn't the greatest kiss on the world, just a slight brushing of lips.

But, hey, a kiss is still a kiss!

I wave a cheery goodbye to Christine and make my way back to base. Not that there really is a base, anyway. Just my blanket and a cup of coffee. I don't know where I found the coffee.

Bill is standing next to my 'base', grinning. "Hey, Malark," he says with a sly smile. "Why're you so happy? Make out with your girlfriend? Got a date? Gonna get laid?"

"WHAT?!" I yell. I hate talking about these sort of things. Unlike Bill.

"Aw, c'mon, don't get so angry," he grins. "Be a man. All of us talk about these things, anyway."

"Shut your gob," I snarl.

"As you wish, lover boy," he shrugs and walks away. "Enjoy your sleep. I betcha two bucks that you'll be dreamin' of Christine the whole night."

My 'Cloud 9' has been degraded to Cloud 0.


	6. The Day after Tomorrow

Chapter 6

**Hi guys! How've you been doin'? HAPPY OLYMPICS! I watched the opening ceremony…it was really great. Anyway, thanks to Bobadoo for loyally reviewing every single chapter I think!. Is my writing deteriorating? Am I getting longer and draggier? If not, why are my reviews slipping up?! It's sad. I LOVE REVIEWS! PLEASE REVIEW! AND PLEASE ENJOY!**

**Disclaimer: I forgot to put disclaimers for the other two, sadly. So this one disclaims for everything. Or something like that.**

**Chapter 6**

**The Day after Tomorrow**

_The object of war is not to die for your country, but to make the other bastard die for his._

_-George S. Patton_

_**Donald Malarkey**_

Today's the 7th of June, 1944. "Easy Company, Move out!" goes the call. I wonder where we're going now, and if Christine would tell me. Probably not. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I edge my way towards Bill and we pick up the march.

"When will this end?" groans Bill as we trudge on.

"Ask Christine," I mumble.

"Why?"

"I…oh, never mind." Almost slipped up there. I can't risk anyone else knowing about Christine and the future, least of all Bill. He's got a mouth so big the whole world would know by the end of one hour if I told him.

And so we walk on in silence, going through the same routine over and over again. March. Stop. Set up positions. Pack up. Move out. March. Stop. Set up. Pack up. Move out. March. Stop…

_**Christine Campbell**_

9th June.

Carentan.

Attack at 0600.

I gripped my M1 – thankfully no one had wrested it away from me – nervously, a cold trail of sweat trickling down my neck. It was the second time I'd be in combat, and I didn't particularly want to do it again. See, I knew that Don would probably survive.

I didn't know if I would.

"Move it, damnit!" Winters was yelling himself hoarse at the men who just refused to budge. "Move out!" he ran towards the ditch, towards me, and his boot connected with my butt. I don't think he knew who he was kicking, or he probably wouldn't have done it.

"OW!"

Maybe it was the kick that did it. I don't know. But suddenly I was running, running for all I was worth, screaming some incoherent war cry and charging at the bloody machine gun. I heard Don shouting, "Come back, Christine, you crazy cow!" and felt a mad urge to stop, turn around and whack Don instead. But I continued running, never looking back, while bullets whizzed past me and ricocheted off the ground.

I was changing history, but I didn't care. I chucked a grenade that I had stolen from Bill at the machine gun as soon as I was close enough. Ducking quickly, I heard a gigantic explosion from on top. The machine gun fell silent as the men cheered. Even Winters shot me a small smile.

We spread out through the city. Small firefights erupted everywhere. Street fighting is often the hardest, most dangerous type of fighting. You don't know where the enemy is going to pop out; somewhere, anywhere, and even everywhere. You never know where he actually is.

I caught my breath at a corner. Something stirred inside the building opposite. No time to think. Fire! A German helmet rolled out of the window. I grinned – that was the third German I'd killed.

Bursts of gunfire to my right. I ducked down instinctively and the machine gun ripped into the wall behind me harmlessly. Opening fire, I leopard crawled in desperate search for some form of safety, as I was sure I could never get the machine gun.

There was a man, a sergeant, standing in front. He looked familiar but I couldn't remember his name. He was yelling something about "moving". A mortar burst in front of him, throwing him into the wall.

_He can take care of himself_, I thought. Besides, I had much more to worry about. A German was shooting at me, very nearly hitting me as his shot sent my helmet flying. I aimlessly fired back before hiding behind a wall. I thought I was supposed to be a medic! What was I doing, fighting in the streets?

Seeing a few soldiers in the distance I squeezed three shots off. One of them fell, probably hit by my bullet. I grinned. Killing Germans was easier than I thought.

Someone was running behind me. Thinking it was a Kraut and not wanting to check, I spurred myself on. The boots behind me crunched faster, and an iron grip closed around my arm. I elbowed him in the ribs and smashed my fist into his nose.

"Ow! Christine, it's me!" I whirled around. It was Don. Blood was gushing from his nose, where I had hit him. He looked dead tired and his uniform was all cut up.

"Jeez, I survive one whole battle with the Germans and my worst injury comes from our company medic!" he said indignantly, trying to clear the blood away from his face.

Just then, Bill arrived, looking grimy and as tired as Don. "Over," he panted. "It's all over."

To Don's surprise, as well as everyone else's, I pulled him into a bear hug. He must've been at least four inches taller. I hate it when I hug someone taller than me, although this time it didn't really matter. "Damn you," I said teasingly. "Why'd you have to be so tall?"

He kissed me anyway.

_**Donald Malarkey**_

"Wahey!" I yell as I pop the champagne that Bill somehow salvaged from one of the houses. Another day, another battle, another kiss from Christine. Never felt so happy in my entire life.

Bill and Buck sit to one side, brows furrowed, discussing something or other. Joe Toye drops by, taking my attention off the two. "Hey, Malark, give it 'ere," he drawls. Without waiting for an answer he grabs my bottle and takes a long swig from it.

"Hey!" I say, half jokingly. I don't really mind – Joe's a good soldier, a great friend, and I'm fine if he drinks my stuff. Just as long as he doesn't drink all of it.

"Thanks, mate," he tells me, grinning tipsily. As he staggers away I look around for Christine. I'm starting to feel very light headed. Wonder what's wrong with me?

There she is, chatting to Eugene Roe, probably about some medical stuff or something. I push my way over to them, clutching my bottle tightly. I think I must've drunk too much since I'm bowing stupidly to the highly amused pair of medics.

"'lo, milady, 'lo, Doc," I tip my imaginary cap. Everything's becoming unfocused; I see two Christines and two Docs. "How's ev…everythin'?"

I stagger back and forth, attempting to put my arm around Christine, empty bottle of champagne in my hand. I hear her asking something, calling out my name, voice full of concern. Can't really make out much anymore.

I think I'm going to fai……


	7. The soldiers have landed

**Hello everybody! I'm back! Sorry I took so long but I was busy writing other stories. Thanks for all the lovely, morale-boosting reviews! I hope you like this chapter.**

** P.S. Never been drunk before, so I don't know what a hangover's like. Tell me if there's something wrong. **

**P.P.S. Sorry for the totally unrelated quote. I'm running low on related quotes.**

**Disclaimer: No, sadly, I don't own anything in this story 'cept Christine and Harry. Harry Campbell, not Harry Welsh. **

* * *

**Chapter 7**

**The soldier has landed**

_We shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender._

_- Winston Churchill_

_**Christine Campbell**_

Eugene very kindly helped me carry Don to his "bunk" – a little blanket. He (unceremoniously) dumped him onto the blanket and walks off. I had a feeling he was a bit drunk himself.

Don stirred. I stopped thinking and looked at him worriedly. "Don? Can you hear me? You alright?" I asked concernedly.

He sank back into his deep sleep. Talk about being unresponsive.

"Argh." From what little experience I had in drinking, I knew he'd be in a bad mood when he woke up so I left and wandered around. The little blankets, or "bunks", seemed to be clustered around one area and the soldiers had jokingly left name cards on their blankets to differentiate them from one another. I walked past and stared at the now familiar names. Perconte…Hoobler…Guarnere…Campbell…

Wait a minute. Campbell? I didn't own a blanket there. So who was this mysterious guy?

A photo propped up on his blanket caught my eye. It was an old, faded picture, of a man and a woman and their young son. My throat constricted. I knew who they were. Mick and Dana Campbell, and their son, Harry. Oh, I knew 'em, alright. I knew 'em really well. Why? 'Cause I've seen that picture before, I have. Heck, I have the picture. In fact, I've spoken to one of them before.

I didn't know. All these years I had never made the connection. All he said was that he fought in the war once. He never told me he endured the grueling training, the battles and skirmishes, alongside the men of Easy Company.

Silently a tear rolled down my cheek.

Harry Campbell was my grandfather.

_**Donald Malarkey**_

God, what a splitting headache I'm having! Must've been that alcohol stuff I had. I'm not a really heavy drinker or anything, so I'm not used to this sorta thing. Remind me never to drink again.

I move a bit when someone, the someone that's been carrying me all the way, drops me onto something soft yet hard. Ouch. I think a person saw me move 'cause they say something. I try to answer, but my mouth won't obey me.

So I'm lying here, with my eyes shut, trying to get some rest. It's pretty impossible with my throbbing head, though. I toss and turn and try to open my eyes. No use pretending to be out cold now.

The world swims into focus, albeit slowly. Where am I? Am I in my bunk?

I pass out again.

This is getting annoying.

_**Christine Campbell**_

A gruff, husky voice behind me startled me from my reverie. I quickly wiped the tear away and looked around. "What d'you think you're doing?" the voice belonged to a tall, sandy haired man with blue-grey eyes. He could be considered handsome, almost as handsome as my Donald. Ok…did I really say "my Donald"? Scratch that. Too sappy.

So, anyway, in case you didn't know, I was really fickle. Like when I saw Don, I immediately fell head over heels in love.

Is this called two-timing?

The man squinted at me. He looked at the picture in my hand and at the bunk and put two and two together.

"Gimme that!" he grabbed it from my outstretched hand and stuffed it into his pocket. I gaped.

"You're Harry Campbell?" I asked incredulously.

"Who's askin'?" he eyed me suspiciously. "So what if I am?" he asked. "Who're you, anyway?"

I was temporarily shocked into silence. "Uh…Christine…Campbell,"Ｉfinally managed to stutter. Would he make some sort of connection?

Apparently he was either too dimwitted or too "Campbell-is-a-common-name" minded to say anything. Instead he looked at my uniform and asked with some hint of surprise, "You're a paratrooper?"

_Well, obviously_, I almost wanted to say. Why else would I be in a uniform, unless I was going to some fancy dress party? Besides, I thought Don said "word travels around fast". Wouldn't he have heard about it by now?

"Yeah."

He looked amazed. "Since when could girls become paratroopers?"

"Since the day Colonel Sink invited me," I replied coldly. As coldly as I could, anyway. I felt my cheeks burning at his intense gaze and turned to look away. Don was waking up. As I walked over to him, I could feel Harry's eyes boring into my back the whole time.

Am I crazy? I mean, not many girls fall in love with their grandfather…

_**Donald Malarkey**_

"Easy Company, move out!" The call drills a hole through my head, making me grimace in anger. Move out? I thought we were going home!

Apparently the Army has a different idea.

God, how do they expect me to move out in this state? I'm still suffering from a headache, albeit a slighter one. I jam my helmet on and grab the M1 I've been using. I don't think Sobel would be pleased to see the state of my clothes. Just as well he's not here.

"You look like shit," Bill comments as I join the boys outside.

"Really?" I mutter sarcastically. "Strange, I feel so happy that I feel like skipping along and chasing butterflies."

"Go on, then. Although there ain't no butterflies for you to chase over here."

We walk to Carentan's perimeter and set up our defensive positions. Me and the boys set up our mortars. Apparently top brass is expecting some sort of counter attack from the Krauts. Just as well.

We wait.

And wait.

_**Christine Campbell**_

June 13.

I must have overdosed 'cause suddenly all hell broke loose. Mortars fired. Bazookas roared. The Germans were counterattacking. I grabbed my M1 as shrapnel rained down from above. Looking cautiously above my foxhole, I spotted a few Kraut heads bobbing around in the distance. I squinted, aimed and squeezed off a few shots. One fell. Successively shooting off my clip I loaded another one as someone landed in my foxhole. The moment I heard his voice I knew who it was without even having to turn around.

"How're you doin'?" Harry Campbell asked as he fired shots off next to me.

"Oh, just dandy. Being shot at by what seems like the whole German Army is very relaxing," I replied sarcastically. He chuckled and said no more.

Some hotshot Lieutenant and a Private ran out into the field, carrying their bazooka. The Lieutenant loaded the bazooka and the trembling Private took aim. Trying to shoot the Krauts, but also trying to avoid them – the Germans were behind them – I yelled, "Oi, push off, bumheads, you're in my way!" Startled, they jumped to the side – thankfully missing a shell that had chosen to land at the exact spot they had been at.

I grinned and continued firing, brining yet another Kraut down. I didn't know I was such a good shot. Maybe it was because I never really tried.

A shell landed right next to the foxhole and shrapnel flew everywhere, embedding itself into my cheek and arm. Thankfully it didn't land in my eyes or something. I wiped as much blood off as I could and put on some sulfa powder – I was a medic after all – and some bandages. Then I went back to shooting. _Bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang ping! _The clip pinged off. I slammed anther one in. _Bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang ping! Slam! Bang bang bang bang…_

_**Donald Malarkey**_

We've been going on for ages now. Mortar after mortar after mortar. My voice is raw, shouting the coordinates to my boys. I'm almost deaf now, what with the mortars beside me, the shells from the Germans, and the grenades exploding everywhere. Stupid Fox and Dog companies are nowhere to be seen. My helmet is gone and I've got a bullet lodged somewhere in my arm. I've grazed my cheek as well. Still, a job's got to be done and I'm still working on my mortar. Reminds me of the way I worked on it at Brecourt Manor, just that I've got a baseplate this time. I'm thirsty and aching all over. A rumbling sound's coming from where F Company should've been. My face falls. Don't tell me…! There's a Kraut tank. This is a one sided battle. Damn the Krauts. I'm sure we're going to lose. But we've never lost before…we can't afford to lose.

Lt. Welsh and Pvt. Watchamacallit run out into the field. I think they've gone crazy. They're carrying a bazooka of sorts. Pvt. Watchamacallit keeps yelling, "You're gonna get us killed, sir!" I'm sorry to say that I can't help but agree with them.

To my immense surprise, they survive and actually hit something. Firing round after round they finally retreat, leaving smoke and a disabled tank in their wake.

"Malark!" yells Bill. To my horror I realize I've been watching them and neglecting my mortar. Sheepishly grinning at my friend, I go back to work, desperately working with the boys to try and stop the tanks and their onslaught.

It's already what, 1630? We're still firing. God knows how many casualties we'll have today. If I didn't know better I'd say at least double digits. There's a rumbling sound coming from somewhere behind and my heart sinks. What the heck! Not more Kraut tanks! We can't stand any more of Kraut tanks. We're gonna die. I think about Christine, about what she told me. Did she know this would happen? If she did, why didn't she tell us?

The rumbling sound grows louder. Someone cheers. I can't believe my ears. How can someone cheer when we're going to die? I snort. That guy has a major brain problem.

It's right behind now. I can hear it clearly. More men are cheering. Has this company become mad people? Do we need to be carted off into an asylum? But wait a minute…

How can the Krauts attack us from behind, unless they overran all of HQ and everything?

I look around. God! How could I be so stupid? They sure are tanks, but they aren't German.

With a loud, whooping cheer, I yell, "The shermans are here!"


	8. Where Eagles Dare

**Not one single review for the last chapter...Ah well. I knew it was sucky anyway. Hopefully you'll like this one more. (I still think it's sucky, though.) By the way, I don't think everything over here is historically accurate. Then again, I'm not known for my historical accuracy. **

**Disclaimer: I do not (sadly) own anything from Band of Brothers. That right belongs to the men themselves. **

**Chapter 8**

**Where Eagles Dare**

_Often the test of courage is not to die but to live._

- Vittorio Alfieri

_**Christine Campbell**_

It was the most sensible thing the Army had done so far. They dumped us on the LSTs and sent us to Britain. After spending a month, give or take, in that hellish place – three days, General Taylor? Ha! – repelling Kraut attacks, I think that was the least we deserved. So we were finally back in Aldbourne. We received two sets of new uniforms, all our pay, and a one week pass to London.

I grew up in London, so it wasn't really special. Until I saw how different it was compared to present day London, anyway. Sadly the boys didn't go for much sightseeing – it was more of a "drink beer, get into fight, get thrown out" concept. Soon we were back in camp, and I had to go and qualify for my wings.

Somehow I managed to stay awake through all the classes I was given – how to pack the chute properly and all that stuff. I suppose I just needed instruction on the practical – the theory I had already read so many times in different books. The first four jumps were surprisingly easy and I made it through with flying colors. However, on the fifth jump I was hit by a sudden wave of nausea. Maybe it was that spaghetti I ate, just before the jump. But whatever the reason I couldn't jump. By the time the plane circled once around the field, its floor was already awash with vomit and spaghetti. The jumpmaster, looking at my rather queasy expression and green face, asked if I wanted to stop the exercise and get the hell out of there. I said no, and told the pilot to make another round. Probably one of the more stupid decisions in my life, now that I come to think of it. By the time it had circled once more I had a terrible headache. What's more a familiar, yet this time foreboding, song was pounding in my brain.

_There was blood upon the risers, there were brains upon the chute,_

_Intestines were a'dangling from his Paratrooper suit,_

_He was a mess, they picked him up, and poured him from his boots,_

_And he ain't gonna jump no more._

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

_He ain't gonna jump no more!_

I wondered if that would happen to me. But then the jumpmaster cut through my thoughts. "Stand up and hook up!" he yelled. I got up and sluggishly hooked myself to the static line.

_Better hope this thing doesn't unhook or I'd be scraped off the ground like strawberry jam._

"Equipment check!"

_Yep, everything in place.__ I sure hope I don't end up like the splattered paratrooper._

The green light took a long time to come.

_Hurry up! We haven't got all day! _

My hands were on the outside of the plane.

_C'mon, Christine, this is just like all the other jumps. We aren't going to foul this up._

The jumpmaster squeezed me on the shoulder reassuringly.

_Breathe in nice and slow. Nothing's going to happen to you._

The green light came on.

_This is it! Let's go, go, go!_

I launched myself into oblivion.

_One thousand, two thousand, three thousand!_ I counted in my head. Right on time the parachute opened and jerked me up. Never in my life had I felt so immensely relieved. I landed perfectly – ok, so maybe I stumbled a bit – and the men who were watching cheered. I picked myself up from the ground and grinned broadly. I had finally earned my wings.

I was marched to the mess hall and a plate of food was pushed forward. I started towards it eagerly, feeling rather hungry as I had vomited out my lunch. Then I stopped short as I caught sight of what it was.

It was a plate of spaghetti.

"Ugh." I turned away. "Thanks, guys, but no thanks."

_**Donald Malarkey**_

"Congratulations!" I shout as I edge my way towards Christine. It's around 2100hrs and we're using Christine as an excuse to hold a party. I see her talking animatedly to Luz and Roe, a tipsy smile on her face – that was as red as a tomato. I wonder if it's from the drink or from embarrassment. When she sees me she yells "Don!" in a most un-Christine like fashion and gives me a tight, suffocating hug.

"Jeez, You're choking me," I gasp. Giggling, she lets go of me and instead brandishes a bottle of VAT 69. I wonder if she stole that from Captain Nixon?

"Want a drink?" she waves it tantalizingly in front of me.

I take a step towards it but remember my awful experience the last time. Stopping myself just in time I grin and reply, "No, thanks." She shrugs. "Suit yourself," she says before downing what's left of Captain Nixon's precious bottle. (Yes, it's his. I hear from a fellow trooper that he's been racking his brain trying to find it. I wonder how she got her hands on it.)

"Ah," she declares, smacking her lips. "Simply delightful." Roe looks amusedly at her. "You're going to get one helluva hangover tomorrow," he remarks. "After you've passed out, anyway."

"Oh yeah, doc?" she says defiantly. "Well, I'll prove you wrong by staying up the whole night without passing out!"

Then she faints.

So much for "staying up the whole night".

_**Christine Campbell**_

Alcohol and beer down my throat.

Snatches of conversations.

A splitting pain in my head.

Two strong arms around me.

My hard bunk.

Sleep.

That's all I remembered from last night. I had a hell of a hangover, as Eugene Roe so correctly predicted. (At least, I think it was Eugene…I can't remember much.) My head felt like it was cracking into two pieces. My eyes were blurry and unfocused. It hurt me more than bullets or Shrapnel could ever hurt me.

My eyes spotted a bottle of wine hiding in the corner. I thought that it might've helped the headache go away, or at least make me feel better.

I was wrong. Dead wrong.

Suddenly I felt tipsy all over again. I was just about to go and find Eugene, so I pushed myself out of bed. _Thump_. I somehow fell over and hit the ground in a crumpled heap. I walked to the door and instead crashed into the wall. _Smash!_ My lip split and started bleeding. Ow.

"Who moved the door?" I asked the air. "It was there a moment ago." I fell out of the doorway. _Thud_.

Getting to my feet I went out in search of Eugene. I came across four guys playing poker. Or shooting craps. I could barely make out the faces of the players, let alone what game they were playing. I think it was Bill, Don, Popeye Wynn and Joe Toye. "Have you seen Eugene?" I asked.

Bill looked at me amusedly. At least, I think it was Bill. My bleary, unfocused eyes were still fuzzy.

"He's over there." Bill pointed west. Or was it east?

"Thanks," I mumbled as I stumbled in the general direction of Bill's finger. "Oh, and by the way," I called over my shoulder as I staggered away. "Go and tell them to check the door of my room. I think it moves."


	9. Must Love Boys

**Hi, all. Coincidentally, today's the day that the heroic assault on Nijmegen bridge was launched, sixty four years ago. Anyway. I hated writing this chapter 'cause it's a bit weird and all, but just read it, for heaven's sakes. Can't hurt you, reading a lousy chapter. But don't forget to leave your nasty criticisms behind! I need advice to improve my writing. Oh, and excuse the unrelated quote.  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the story 'cept for Christine and Harry. Which is sad.**

**Chapter 9**

**Must Love Boys**

_Not the beginning of the end, but, perhaps, the end of the beginning._

- Winston Churchill

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_**Christine Campbell**_

"Doc!" I called as I wandered aimlessly around the barracks. "Dooooc…"

Eugene suddenly appeared right in front of me and I fell back, startled. He grinned at me amusedly as I sprawled at his feet.

"You managed to prove it to me, alright," he said, helping me to some place and gesturing me to take a seat. I sat down heavily – I was surprised the chair actually managed to stay up straight.

"Prove what, Doc?" I mumbled.

"That you can really stay awake the whole damn night." He chuckled. "You're a first timer, I see?"

"Actually, yeah," I admitted. The haze was clearing, leaving me with a pounding headache. Even Don had it better. At least he didn't go around embarrassing himself like I just did. _What "moving doors" crap was I rambling about just now?_

Gene bustled around and came back with a nice cup of refreshing coffee. He handed the steaming mug over to me and I gulped it down thirstily. "Feeling better now?"

"You bet, Doc." I tipped the mug over to check for any stray drops left behind. "Thanks." Waving a cheery goodbye – as cheery as I could make it, anyway – I left Gene behind.

"Hey! Private Campbell! Christine!" someone yelled from behind me. I looked around and saw it was Harry Campbell. Something funny swelled up in me. I suppose it isn't very normal to see your grandfather when he's twenty years old.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" he was asking me. I snapped out of my thoughts and said absently, "Yeah, sure you can." We strolled down the lane until coming to a deserted alley. He looked at me nervously as he dragged me into the alley.

"Look, I know this isn't how guys usually do it, but…are you married?" he asked after pausing for a long while.

I couldn't believe my ears. I hadn't even known him for two months – as a young man, anyway – and now he was asking me…what?!

"No, goddamnit. What kind of question is that?" I snapped angrily. God. What the hell did he think he was doing?

Harry suddenly lost all his nervousness and leered at me. It was a creepy, evil grin. And suddenly he was kissing me, full on the mouth, pressing me against the wall.

God.

My own damn grandfather was kissing me!

_**Donald Malarkey**_

I walk down the street, looking for Christine, to tell her what happened last night. Damn, no sign of her anywhere. I pause right before a dark alley. Something, some sort of movement seems to be going on. I raise the bottle of water to my lips and take a swig as I stare into the alley and find out what's going on.

I choke.

Christine is there, along with Harry Campbell. Two words: kissing. Passionately. My throat constricts – it's as if a couple of steel hands have clamped themselves around my windpipe. I wait for the hands to take themselves away but they don't. As Harry fumbles with Christine's uniform I slop water down my shirt. God, how could she do this to me?

Suddenly she looks up. Her emotion-filled eyes meet mine. I can't look away, can't look anywhere. Transfixed there I stare at her until she looks away, until she tears her gaze off me.

I run.

_**Christine Campbell**_

As I tore my gaze away from Don I cursed, a bitter feeling welling inside me. Harry was sitting on me, fumbling with my buttons. I pushed him away. "Damn it, Harry," I spat. He looked surprised. Honestly, I'd never have dared said that to my granddad. (Then again, he never gave me a good reason to.) He hated the word "damn". I started thinking it could've been because of this.

Something rose in my throat and I retched. As I did I remembered all the emotions in Don's eyes: hate, anger, disbelief, sorrow, hurt. The eyes that held my gaze until I cowardly looked away. The ferocious, disbelieving and hurt stare.

Looking in disgust at Harry, I turned around and walked away.

"Don…Doooon…" I called, searching for him. It was nearly night time and yet I hadn't seen any sign of him. He missed some daily poker game that day, a game he never missed. I wondered where the hell he was. It's not like he disappeared from the face of the Earth, right? That'd be damn near impossible.

But it sure seemed like it.

_**Donald Malarkey**_

For the past hour – or is it five or six hours? – I've been lying on my back, staring at the sky, glassy eyed. I don't know what a guy's supposed to do when he catches his girlfriend-to-be cheating on him, but this is my way of cooling off. Or rather, trying to cool off. Soon the sky turns black and the stars twinkle happily. And yet I still can't get that image out of my mind. That horrible image of Christine and Harry in the dark alley.

Someone comes up next to me. Bill. "How're you doin', Malark?" he asks, lying besides me on the grassy hillside.

"Piss off," is my only reply.

"Jeez, Malark, no need to get angry with me," he comments, surprised.

"Piss off."

"The heck I will," he continues obstinately. "I'm gonna stay here till you tell me what the hell's goin' on."

"Piss the hell off." I don't know why I'm being so rude to Bill, but I just don't feel like talking now.

"C'mon, Marlk," cajoles Bill. "You've been sulking here all day now. Pretty nice place, by the way, took me a miracle to find you. But what the hell happened? That's all I want to know…"

Goddamnit, Bill. Why d'you always have to be so stubborn, so nosy, jabbing a nose into everyone's business?

"Caught Christine and Harry Campbell. Now piss off."

"Oh really?" he asks, surprised. "Hmm. Maybe there's something to do with them having the same last name. Doesn't really matter, does it, anyway? Plenty of gals here in Aldbourne. You'll get over it.

"But they aren't Christine!" I explode, exasperated.

"Aw, c'mon, she's not all that gre…" he falters at my furious glare.

"Bill…just clear off, please. I need some time to myself."

He shrugs. "Well, as Shakespeare said, 'As you Like It'." He turns around and disappears.

I sleep outside, on the grassy hill. Can't be bothered to go back. The irony is that I'm actually sleeping besides that idiot Campbell. And anyway, I can't risk going back. Temper might get the better of me and I might sock him in the jaw good and proper. That is, if he actually goes back. If he doesn't spend the night with Christine.

So I sleep outside. And I only have one dream.

The dark alley. Christine and Harry. Together.


	10. Forgive and forget please?

**Hi, all! To those who have been waiting, sorry for the long wait - was doing my final exams and stuff. Pretty good results, topped for English and Maths, third for Lit, fourth for Science...anyway. I wrote this chapter in a hurry and I gotta say I'm not proud of it. It isn't good at all. In fact, it sucks. I don't even know how I topped English. Big mystery. But, just read and DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW! EVEN IF IT'S A HORRIBLE, SCATHING REVIEW, I DON'T CARE! Just review and make my day, eh? **

**Disclaimer: The day I own BoB would be the day that Adolf Hitler is resurrected and takes over the world with fluffy bunnies. All I own are Christine and Harry Campbell one of which doesn't even appear in this chapter. **

**Chapter 10**

**Forgive and Forget…please?**

_If we really want to love  
we must learn how to forgive_

_- Mother Teresa_

_**Christine Campbell**_

When you watch a movie, the part where the heroine or hero gets heartbroken always has that typical scene where it rains and music plays. Slowly she (or he) would walk away, hands in pockets, while the rain soaks her (or him) to the bone and slow, sad music plays. It didn't happen to me, though. Bill sought me out in the morning and told me about his conversation with Don. I raced to the green, gentle hillside and saw him, cutting a lonely figure against the picturesque scenery, staring into space. He turned, saw me and I held my breath, trying to think of something witty, or funny to say. He held my gaze for a long time, then finally shouted, "Leave me alone!" and walked in the opposite direction.

Those three words sent the world crashing down around me.

I slouched away miserably, hands in pockets, half expecting that rain and music to appear magically. But Aldbourne was as sunny as ever – sunnier than usual, in fact – and no music played. In fact, not a sound could be heard except for some faraway Sergeant shouting orders to his men.

Aldbourne was pleasant, but somehow I couldn't wait to get back into battle. It was so exhilarating, yet pretty scary, seeing as it was pretty dangerous (I do believe that's the understatement of the year). But when the adrenalin courses through you, it isn't that scary after all. Besides, it'd help me take my mind off Don. So I wanted to go and fight.

I had the feeling Bill wanted to as well. Every time we were briefed for another assignment his face lit up. But when Patton and his tanks overran the drop zones, while others were blessing George Patton and the Third Army, Bill's face fell comically. I should've expected it, anyway. We're really two of a kind in terms of character. But that's getting out of point.

All day I tried to get closer to Don, to explain myself, to explain what happened, to tell him I'm sorry for whatever I did wrong. But every time I tried to get nearer to him he seemed to disappear, just like that. It was inexplicable and maddeningly frustrating.

_**Donald Malarkey**_

If she doesn't like me anymore, why is she still chasing me? I hate people like that. Trying to pretend they didn't do anything wrong but cheating on you at the same time. I'll never forget that dark alley. Jeez, why did I have to become so infatuated with her in the first place? She's a British girl, in the American airborne, found in a French house, with the ability to speak German, French and Russian. A weirder girl I've never seen.

And yet…

_**Christine Campbell**_

I had tried to put Don out of my mind with the prospect of more fighting in the form of Operation Market Garden that was coming up, but something kept nagging me. Day after day I returned to that dark alley, gazing into its depths, wishing that whatever had occurred in there had never happened in the first place.

And then one day, Don came along. He didn't look where he was going – or maybe I was the one that wasn't looking – and we crashed into each other, right in front of the alley. While he was still dazed and disoriented I seized the opportunity. "Now look, Don," I said in my best, apologetic manner, which wasn't very apologetic at all. "I'm sorry for what happened over here–" I made an attempt to vaguely gesture at the dark alley – "but it wasn't my fault. Harry just…just forced himself upon me," I mumbled, feeling rather embarrassed at my choice of words. "I didn't do anything, I wasn't, well, _cheating_ on you or anything, honest!"

Don regarded me for one long moment. Then finally a ghost of a smile flitted across his face and he remarked, "You know, you sound like some whiny, guilty, spoilt kid."

I blushed. "Only one out of four, I'm afraid," I told him in my best impersonation of a teacher. "I'm not whiny, not spoilt, and I'm not a kid…I just feel a bit guilty for what I didn't do," I put particular emphasis on the last four words. Then I tried to get back to the subject. "Don…can you forgive me?" I tried my hardest to inject a helluva lot of sincerity into my words. Needless to say, I could see I was failing dismally.

He stopped. "No…" he said slowly, then he added, "But I can try."

_**Donald Malarkey**_

16th September.

One day before Operation Market Garden, as Christine said, an all out operation involving most of our resources…that is doomed to fail. And what's more we, the 101st Airborne which has never lost a battle yet, are going to be in the middle of it all. On Hell's Highway.

Gee, it sure is confusing, knowing the future. And the worst thing is that you can't do anything about it. I for one know that if I tried to convince anyone that we're all going to be doomed, everyone's just going to assume I'm mad and lock me up in the asylum. So Operation Market Garden has to go ahead. Thousands of British Paratroopers will have to sacrifice their lives for an ultimately futile effort, for a road to nowhere. Bit stupid, if you ask me.

I can't decide if I've forgiven Christine yet. I picked a fight with Campbell the other day, and the sight of him with a boot print on the side of his face made me laugh, but, well, I don't know, Christine's just so…difficult. Plus, she's from the future, and I'm from the past. How am I to get along with her well?

September 17th.

Sunday.

With a slight sense of foreboding we load up on the planes, checking and rechecking our equipment. It feels like D-Day all over again, just that this jump will be in broad daylight. Which makes us easier targets for the Krauts.

Surprisingly enough, though, all goes well. Not much ack ack encountered on the way there, and the drop goes perfectly. The moment I hit the ground I'm getting rid of the harness, shouldering my mortar and making for the drop zone. A few Easy troopers are already there, getting themselves in order. Christine's one of them and I make a deliberate detour so that she doesn't see me. After most of the regiment is assembled we make for Son Bridge, the bridge we are supposed to capture. Coincidentally, also known as the bridge that is due to blow up in our faces.


	11. A Bridge Too Far

**Hi! Back from the dead! Thanks to everyone who reviewed while I was tossing in my grave. The new year started, I had a nice holiday and totally forgot about it. PLEASE READ AND REVIEW! REVIEWS MAKE MY DAY! **

**Disclaimer: The day I own BoB would be the day that Adolf Hitler is resurrected and takes over the world with fluffy bunnies. All I own are Christine and Harry Campbell, one of whom doesn't even appear in this chapter. **

**Chapter 11**

**A Bridge Too Far**

_Show me a man who will jump out of an airplane, and I'll show you a man who'll fight._

_-James Gavin_

_**Christine Campbell**_

I came down near a secluded copse of trees, with nobody around me. I didn't know I had airsickness, but it seemed to have caught up with me and I was the last to jump from my plane. Ah well. At least I was away from Don for a few moments. And now I was here, safe and sound in Holland, having taken part in the largest airborne invasion in history. Damn, I felt proud. Not many girls can say that. I grabbed my colt with one hand (had to relinquish my M1 since I was now a medic, but no way was I about to go without a weapon) and my medic bag in the other and set off.

I got to the regiment pretty quickly. They were marching off already, on to the city whose name I had forgotten. Thousands of cheering Dutch people lined the streets, waving orange flags and happily offering their worldly possessions – chocolate, wine and beer – to the liberators. The chaps couldn't get enough of the beautiful girls kissing them senseless. I grinned and hoped that a girl wouldn't mistake me for a guy.

The hair cutting that I had read about in so many books was now going on right before my very eyes. The girls were marched down the streets after their hair was shaved and the crowd booed them harshly. I turned away disgustedly. They had no right to treat the girls like that, regardless of whether they had slept with a German or not.

The euphoria of the Dutch must've got to me because I was delirious with joy in spite of everything. I hugged a few Dutch people, traded cigars and chocolate for steaming mugs of coffee and fresh bread. They warmed my stomach considerably. It was especially nice if you had been surviving on K rations for the past few days.

Then we marched on and the bridge of Son predictably blew up straight in our faces. Not wanting to get injured by the falling pieces of wood I lagged behind. We waited and waited for the bridge to get fixed up before crossing into the war zone.

I couldn't wait any longer. Like Gordon Carson, I dove into the river – albeit fully clothed, I couldn't strip in front of them – and swam across. Soaking wet, I dragged myself onto the bank and waved my colt above my head, a mock happy expression on my face.

"Send us a boat, will you?" Bill yelled at me. I grinned and pretended not to hear, setting off instead to look for enemy snipers.

Someone opened fire on me, although I was sure he could clearly see the big red cross on my arm. Screw all those Germans. Thank god I had refused to relinquish my Colt or I would have been defenseless. I fired back, knowing that it wouldn't do any good, and waited for the rest of the company to come.

_**Donald Malarkey**_

So it looked like Christine was right after all. The bridge did blow up. Whoopee. And now we're waiting for the damn engineers to come. The British take their time building the Bailey, but it's weak and flimsy and we take hours to cross. Bill wonders aloud what Christine is up to. She's probably looting all the houses before we can get there.

Bill and I walk around, trying to get more nice food from the grateful Dutch. Boy, is this country an awesome place. Cognac, bread, everything's available here. You wouldn't believe the Germans occupied this place for four years. A nice Dutch farmer comes out and gives us bread, jam (haven't seen jam for a very long time) and fresh meat. I give him a chocolate bar and Bill gives him a cigarette. He smokes the cigarette but gives the chocolate to his little boy, who, it seems, has never eaten chocolate before.

I decide that I like the Dutch much more than the French.

We stay in the barn until morning, where Sink gives the word to move out. We march North and come across Christine, dozing off on a haystack behind a brick wall. "Wakey wakey, sleepy head," Bill taunts and knocks his rifle on Christine's helmet, waking her up. She grins when she sees us. "What took you guys so long?" she asks.

Lieutenant Bob Brewer walks forward without any cover. Stupid. He looks like an inviting six foot target for a sniper. "Lieutenant!" Winters yells. Brewer doesn't hear him. We wait for the inevitable bang. Brewer's down.

I rush up to help him, but someone says, "He's dead, leave him." So we walk on. I catch sight of Christine giving him a jab of morphine and a sulfa pill. I wonder why. Maybe she knows that Brewer's supposed to survive.

We walk on and are greeted by more screaming throngs of Dutch people, still decked in Orange. "We've got a job to do," I tell myself over and over again. Forget it. Ignore them.

After Nuenen, where according to Webster Vincent Van Gogh was born, the trouble starts. Kraut tanks are spotted. My heart sinks. The holiday is over.

_**Christine Campbell**_

Machine gun fire. Tearing straight into us. The squadron of Cromwell tanks that accompanied us weren't helping much. Kraut Tanks straight ahead. A rat-a-tat-tat of machine guns from one of the houses. I ducked and rolled behind a stone wall. Couldn't trust the Krauts to stop shooting at me just because I was a medic. The machine gun bullets ricocheted off the wall. I fired wildly back. A couple of guys joined me behind the wall and commenced firing. The machine gun fell silent and I whooped with joy, brandishing my Colt above my head like the time I crossed the river.

Of course a moment later I realized what a stupid mistake I had made. Sure enough, the snipers started aiming their guns at me and I ducked down again quickly as the first bullet hit the place where my head had been a moment ago. The guys next to me grinned and I scowled at them.

Then I remembered when watching Band of Brothers that Nixon and Winters came across this belfry that would be a great sniping position. I sought out a sniper and came across a dead one. Taking his weapon, I sprinted to the belfry, dodging bullets. Boy was the gun heavy. Winters saw me carrying a weapon and asked, mock surprised, "Whatever happened to the idea that medics weren't supposed to carry guns?"

"Screw the Geneva convention," I yelled back.

I nicked quite a few Germans before a stupid sniper spotted us and fired, hitting the bell. Since I was prepared for it, I covered my ears and watched while Winters and Nixon, surprised, promptly fell back and landed in a heap at the foot of the stairs. I grinned smugly at the two officers before going back to my job. I located the sniper, sniped him and ducked as a flurry of bullets sped my way. I was drawing too much fire so I abandoned the rifle and hurried down the stairs.

Racing back to the battle, I saw that Buck had been hit. "One bullet, four holes," I grinned as I lugged him along with Don and Bill and a couple of others.

"Shut up," he growled.

_**Donald Malarkey**_

We dig in for the next few days. Stay in the foxholes as 88s whiz over our heads. Their shells, anyway. No one's dumb enough to chuck 88s at us. I bet the boys at Veghel are done for. Christine assures me that they think we're done for too. That we're goners. Somehow I don't really believe her. I hug my gun and huddle in my hole. Another barrage of shells come down. Will this ever end?

Hoobler's having a picnic. "Are you crazy?" I ask him. Hoob grins. "Do flowers attract bees?" he shouts back happily, his way of saying yes. I shake my head. That boy has got war in his head.

A shell comes in. Whzzz….BAM! Hoob and the boys scramble.

So much for Hoobler's picnic.


End file.
